


If Only For a Moment

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Series: Sherlock and Mycroft Fluff [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Holmes Brothers, Humor, M/M, Mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade is being given an award at a very posh ceremony, he has to give a speech and everything. He's dreading it! He hates being made a fuss of, but at the same time, he hates disappointing people, so he has to go even though Mycroft has to work and can't attend. Imagine his surprise when Mycroft shows up at the ceremony to support him, looking absolutely gorgeous and being reasonably affectionate, but obvious about the fact that they're together and he's proud of Lestrade. John and Sherlock even show up. The only catch is Mycroft is feeling the need to do something childish, maybe even pull a prank. Sherlock is happy to assist him to that end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only For a Moment

Mycroft grabbed the front of Greg's jacket pulling him close. “You look gorgeous.” Mycroft whispered, kissing him quickly. “Good enough to eat.”

“I don't want to do this, Myc, it will be embarrassing.”

“Nonsense, Gregory. You shouldn't be embarrassed by being recognised for your achievements.” Mycroft smoothed down the DI's lapels where he had gripped them.

Greg took the government official's hands in his own. “I only wish you could be there. I wouldn't mind so much, then.”

“Duty calls and all that. I really am sorry, Gregory.”

The DI smiled slightly, trying to act like he wasn't bothered. He hoped he did a sufficient job. “I suppose Donovan will have to suffice.”

Mycroft started walking towards the front door, drawing the DI along with him. He opened it and gave Greg a little push through it. “Anthea has promised to record the ceremony for me. We can watch it together tonight.” He gave Greg one last kiss. “Now be gone with you.” With a little smile, he closed the door and went to get ready to go to Baker Street.

Mycroft routed through his wardrobe, attempting to pick an outfit he would deem suitable for the evening ahead. He hoped against the odds John had managed to get his baby brother to do the same.

Humming to himself, he stepped outside, grabbing his umbrella on the way through the door. His driver was already waiting. “Grant,” he said with a nod to the man behind the wheel, “My brother's flat, if you would.”

“Of course, sir.”

Mycroft reclined in the back thinking of getting a limo. He could have champagne and watch the news on his travels then.

It wasn't long before they arrived at their destination. Mycroft got out and asked Grant to wait. Going up to the front door, he raised his hand to knock, only to have Mrs. Hudson open it first.

“Mr. Holmes, I am so glad to see you. John needs your support. That brother of yours-”

“Sherlock!” John's voice carried down the stairs. “You cannot go to this thing in a sheet!”

“Why not?!”

“It's posh and stuff.”

“Oh, very descriptive, Doctor. Posh and stuff. Well screw posh!”

“See what I mean? Your brother's language is appalling these days, Mr. Holmes.”

“I'm sure John has him well under control, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Sod it, I'm not going! Go on your own.”

“Or maybe not,” the landlady said, shooing him to the stairs.

Mycroft shook his head wryly as he made his way up to the flat. He stopped in the doorway and leaned against the doorframe. Very pointedly, he tapped the tip of his umbrella against the floor and waited. He didn't have to wait long.

Sherlock turned and smiled at his brother. “Hello, Mycroft.”

“Hello, brother-mine. I see you're dressed and ready to support Gregory.” Mycroft stepped into the flat properly. “Just as he's given you his support over the years, even when it wasn't deserved.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. “Fine.” He stalked off to the bedroom to get dressed.

“What?” John exclaimed. “That's it! Two dozen words! Come on!”

“Would you prefer I went like this?” He yelled back.

“Fine. Fine, ignore me. Put that suit on. I picked it myself,” he added in a lame attempt to regain control of the situation.

“No you didn't. Mycroft did!”

John collapsed in his chair and looked at the elder Holmes brother. “I can't believe you, of all people, actually got him to do something.”

Mycroft chuckled and sat in Sherlock's chair. “Honestly, neither can I.”

“You better not be in my chair, brother dear!” Came a yell from the bedroom.

“Of course not! Don't be ridiculous.”

They waited. And waited. And waited. Until:

“Jesus, Sherlock, what the hell are you doing in there?!”

The detective came out dressed in a three piece suit. His hair had seen a thorough attempt at being groomed within an inch of its life... practically succeeding. John took one look at him and, without looking at Mycroft, told the government official, “Sorry. Sorry, but we'll be staying in. You run along to that whatever it was.” His tongue darted out and swiped over his bottom lip, hungrily. He didn't care Mycroft was in the room. He shoved Sherlock against the nearest wall and kissed him eagerly.

“Still tastes like Sherlock.”

He buried his face in the crook of the detective's neck and sniffed.

“Still smells like Sherlock.”

His hand crept lower.

“Ahem, John!” Mycroft stood and walked to the mantle, picking up the skull and looking at it in a way to distract himself from the situation. “Perhaps you could continue that later?”

“I'm just trying to confirm your brother is your brother.”

“With hair as untameable as that it can't not be my brother.”

“He's tried,” John responded.

Sherlock tucked the doctor's head under his chin and stuck his tongue out at Mycroft, then he lay his cheek on the top of his boyfriend's head. “This is going to be so terribly boring, though.”

“Oh, little brother, have you forgotten our plan?”

Sherlock's eyes lit up at those words.

“Plan? What plan?” John pushed Sherlock away to arm’s length.

“Doesn't matter.” He took John's hand. “Come on.”

John was wary, but if the straight-laced Mycroft was involved, then this plan of theirs couldn't be too bad. It was probably a surprise for Greg. “Is it time to go already?”

“Of course,” Mycroft used his umbrella to indicate the door. “After you.”

“That was a nice subject switch, Mister, but don't think I've forgotten,” John warned.

Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at him. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

They went down the stairs and out on the street to the waiting car. Mycroft let the other two men climb in first, struggling to hide his amusement at how close his brother was sitting to John. He was careful not to mention it. “I'm rather looking forward to surprising Gregory. I'm glad you suggested it, John. It's not the kind of thing I would have thought of myself.”

***

Greg sighed heavily, he was trying incredibly hard to not head butt the table in front of him. Donovan was talking, but he wasn't really listening, when had she gotten so annoying?

“Room for three more?”

The DI spun his chair around on one leg.

“Myc!”

The room was so large and loud as waiters took food orders that no one noticed. He stood and wrapped his arms around the older man. It wasn't until he had hold of Mycroft that he realised he'd said 'three more' and there was Sherlock and John behind the government official. John was also in a tux and had somehow forced Sherlock into a three piece suit extremely similar to Mycroft's.

Greg's hand went to his hair and he ruffled it unconsciously. “God, I don't believe you all came. Look at you! John in a tux. And this thing!” He spontaneously hugged Sherlock who didn't know what to do. He wasn't used to hugs from anyone except John and Mrs. Hudson.

Mycroft couldn't help but laugh at his brother's awkwardness. “Excuse me, Miss Donovan, would you mind moving? A few seats along would suffice.”

“How about the other side of the room,” Sherlock amended, ducking like a chastened child when John clipped him on the back of the head.

Greg put out a soothing hand, catching the sergeant on the arm. “Don't go too far. You've had my back for years. I might need you tonight.”

She smiled at him and John could have sworn she almost stuck her tongue out at Sherlock before she moved down a few seats.

Rather than sit next to where Greg had been sat Mycroft sat in the DI's seat and pulled him down to his lap.

“Have you ordered food?” John asked, falling into a nearby chair. “This ones been driving me mad all day.”

Greg shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Then we need food. Lots of food. And wine, I suppose. Something as mundane as beer would be looked down on at this type of thing.” John frowned, looking at the wine glass, just waiting to be filled.

“If John wants beer. John can have beer,” Sherlock pronounced imperiously.

The doctor grabbed Sherlock when he was about to get out of his seat again and wander off. “Sit down. Wine is fine. You're just looking for an excuse to be out of my sight.”

“You're probably right, John,” Greg agreed, “but you're surrounded by police officers. You can have your beer.” He waved a waiter over and ordered beer for his friend and whilst he was still there ordered one for himself.

“Food!” Sherlock suddenly declared, earning himself another clip on the back of the head.

“Read the menu and choose then, you prat.”

“The food tastes better when you order it,” Sherlock insisted with a flutter of dark lashes.

Greg snorted. “Spoiled brat.”

John gave the DI a stern look. “Oi! Who said I was actually going to order for him?”

Mycroft made a point of folding his arms even as John turned and ordered, making sure to times it by two so Sherlock would have to eat something.

When he noticed it wasn't just one pair of eyes on him, but three, he folded his arms as well. “I love him, alright?”

Sherlock looked entirely too smug, so the doctor jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “You have to make that up to me later.”

“But I didn't do anything!” John gave Sherlock 'the look' and the detective said quietly, “Yes, Captain.”

This time it was John who ruffled his curls. Sherlock shook his head like a dog to ensure it stayed a mess, if they didn't do what they were told earlier they would now! “Bored,” he declared.

John rolled his eyes. “Well, good job I came prepared then.” He pulled out the carrier bag he'd brought with them and handed Sherlock a colouring book and a set of pens.

It wasn't a children's coloring book. It was one made up of fractals and other complex images. Frankly, they made John's eyes water just looking at them, but they seemed to hold Sherlock's attention. He set to colouring, his tongue sticking slightly out of his mouth.

Mycroft noticed Donovan about to open her mouth, but a glare stopped her in her tracks. If his baby brother remained occupied for long enough, they could get through this as a family and they could play their little plan out. He didn't care how he remained entertained. If anything, he was bloody impressed with John's initiative.

Greg was impressed too. The two beers were delivered and he chinked glasses with John, giving him a wink just to show how impressed he was. “How long do these things normally last?” he asked, changing the previously non-verbal subject.

“You're the copper,” John responded, sipping at his beer, his eyes never left Sherlock's colouring, though.

“I know, but I've never stopped a set of triplet armed robbers before.”

“Single handedly,” Mycroft added.

Greg looked at his boyfriend. “This posh stuff is more your thing. How long are we going to be stuck here?”

“Oh, for hours and hours, I'm sure, Gregory. First there's the dinner, then the ceremony, then the requisite chatting-”

“There's something you're not telling me,” the DI accused.

Mycroft shrugged. “There might be some dancing. Some minor government official might have suggested it.”

“Dammit, Mycroft!”

The 'minor' government official raised an eyebrow. “I'm sure my little brother would love the chance to dance with John too.”

John was immediately outraged at that idea. “I can't dance.”

They were waiting for some input from Sherlock, but he was too into his colouring to pay them any attention.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “That does present a problem. Perhaps the two of you could escape to one of the other rooms and practice.”

At the word 'escape', Sherlock's head jerked up. “We get to leave? Excellent! Come along, John.” He was already starting to stand.

“Hey!”

Sherlock didn't need the older man to say anything else. He just slumped back into his seat, immediately picking his pens up again.

John stared at him for a moment. He was like a yoyo. Running his hand through his hair, he looked at Greg. “What do you think?”

The DI barked a laugh. “This one has forced me to learn to dance, so I'm in by default.”

Sherlock kept colouring, but asked, “Who's dancing?”

“No one, just go back to that.”

“Hmm,” he agreed absently, choosing that time to change the colour he wanted to use.

John was even more shocked and shook his head at least to clear it. “Have I found a way of keeping him from blowing up the flat?” He asked of the two men actually paying attention to the conversation.

“I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you.” Greg leaned forward to look at Sherlock's handiwork. “He'll either insist on having it framed or burn it to study the ash.”

John looked scandalised. “I'll have you know I plan on putting it in an album. It wouldn't do to have the colour fade.”

Down the table, Donovan picked up her wine glass and downed its contents in one go, shaking her head at the conversation.

Just then, the first course arrived, Caesar salads.

Sherlock poked his tongue out at it.

“Eat, Sherlock,” John ordered, snatching the colouring book away and sitting on it.

“It's disgusting.”

“It's healthy.”

“It's boring.”

The doctor reached across and grabbed Sherlock's salad fork. He speared a forkful of lettuce and held it to his boyfriend's mouth. Reluctantly, Sherlock ate it, making a face. “Tastes like fish,” he said around his mouthful.

“That would be the anchovies used in the dressing, brother-mine.”

“Well, you're boring too.”

“Sherlock, just eat it. If you eat three quarters of every course you can have your colouring book back.”

“I'm hardly five years old, John.”

“That's right. More like three,” the doctor quipped.

“I'll show you. I'll eat the whole salad. I bet I'll finish it before you to.”

John blinked at the unexpected challenge. “What's the catch?”

“If I win, you have to help me with my experiments for a month.”

“And if I win?”

“I'll come with you to do the shopping. And help with the washing up and all the other boring stuff.”

“One sec.” John took a bite of his salad. “Now we're even. Greg, would you judge our little contest?”

“Happily. Ready- Go.”

Mycroft watched on, amused. How the hell had his little brother not only found someone to put up with his nonsense but play a part, to a certain extent, as well.

He was surprised the pair weren't being watched by the room, but as Greg had pointed out earlier, all around them were coppers, and they all more than likely knew who 'Mr. Holmes' was and what he could and would do if they upset his baby brother.

Unbelievably, Sherlock finished first.

“We have a winner!” Greg declared cheerfully, raising his glass.

Mycroft leaned over and whispered into the doctor's ear, “You, Doctor Watson, are horrendously indulgent.”

John shrugged. “He ate it,” he whispered back.

Sherlock actually hadn't finished first. His plate was the first empty, but he was scared if he stood up lettuce would fall from his pockets. For the rest of the meal, he surreptitiously reached down and poked the lettuce deeper into his pockets, hoping for a chance to excuse himself to get rid of the evidence. He suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?” John asked.

“Loo,” he said hurriedly.

“I'll come.”

“I don't need a baby sitter.”

“You bloody well do,” John argued.

Sherlock sat back down. “Changed my mind.” Three sets of eyes looked at him suspiciously, so he sought to distract them. “May I have my colouring book back?” he asked, primly. He started trying to tug it from beneath John's arse.

“You need to eat your dessert first.”

Sherlock folded his arms in a protest.

“You can sit and pout all you like, sulking never gets you anywhere and you know that,” John admonished.

Sherlock looked down at his stomach. He had eaten more in one evening than he normally did in two days. Unfortunately, the strawberry sorbet was unlikely to be as easy to hide in his pockets as the lettuce had been. He took a ginger bite of it and was surprised by its smooth taste.

John reached over and shoved his hand into Sherlock's pocket. He pulled out a handful of lettuce and placed it on Mycroft's lap. “Nice try, Babe.”

Greg chuckled watching Mycroft shake off the 'evidence'. Sally laughed also from down the table, but she tried to hide it behind her napkin.

Sherlock bit his lip and looked at his lap. “Can I still have my colouring book?”

Just then, the official in charge of the ceremony came over and asked Greg to join him on stage.

“No,” John answered. “You can watch like a big boy.”

It was Greg's turn to act the child. The official had disappeared, in hope of the DI joining him.

“I don't want to,” Greg pouted.

Mycroft stood, pulling the DI up with him. Giving him a kiss, he gave him a push towards where the official had gone. “You deserve this, Gregory. I want to see you up there where I can admire you properly.”

The DI actually poked his tongue out at him.

“Go!” Mycroft ordered.

Sherlock moved to Greg's vacated seat. “Are we ready?”

John had turned to make polite conversation with Sally, but he kept turning a questioning look in the direction of the Holmes brothers.

“What we need is in place.” Mycroft glanced meaningfully to a small table just a few feet away. It was covered with a table cloth that reached completely to the floor, hiding whatever was hidden beneath.

The man that had come over to collect Greg was trying to gain the room's attention. “We have many awards tonight, but the first, most special, is for this gentlemen, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.”

There were a few catcalls, some applause and Sally gave a loud whistle, all of which caused the DI to blush furiously. It made a nice contrast to his silver hair.

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at him.

“I don't know what you're laughing at!” Greg yelled over at him.

The detective just shrugged which earned him a clip to the back of the head from John and an elbow in the ribs from Mycroft. Sherlock sank low in his chair until he could barely be seen over the top of the table.

“We have a special someone here to give the award. The Commissioner of Greater London Police.”

There was another round of applause and Sherlock managed to slip under the table while his boyfriend was suitably distracted. He managed to snag his colouring book and markers as he went. It wasn't that he didn't care that Greg was getting an award, well he didn't, awards were stupid, though it was nice that people had noticed his friend was an adept officer of the law. It was just this whole ceremony thing was boring.

Sherlock managed a full five minutes hidden from John. Even Mycroft hadn't seemed to notice. It couldn't last, however. His collar was grabbed by two hands at once. A smaller hand grasped it from one side, a larger hand from the other and heaved him back into his chair.

Greg, holding a small statuette, was shaking the Commissioner's hand and smiling as camera flashes went off from every side. As soon as he was able, the DI made his escape and headed back towards his seat.

Mycroft stood to hug his boyfriend, and Sherlock slipped out of sight behind them, in the direction of the table. As the doctor stood to shake his hand Mycroft moved to his brother.

John and Greg had their backs conveniently turned on the little table, allowing the brothers to pull out what they had hidden there. They hefted it up and just as the doctor should have stepped away from Greg, he stepped in for a hug. The result, a large cooler of ice water was dumped not only over the celebrant, but John as well.

The action had the opposite effect that they had been expecting. Rather than go deadly silent everyone laughed and cheered. The Holmeses, however, didn't. The brothers' eyes widened in horror, Sherlock's especially. Getting Greg wet had been the aim, but the ex-army doctor had a devilish response to such things.

“Mycie,” Sherlock whispered, grabbing his sleeve. “I think we should go.”

“Actually, baby brother, run!” Mycroft sprinted for the door, only to be stopped by Anthea, her arms crossed over her chest. “I am your employer!”

She looked around him at Greg who was approaching. “And he is your boyfriend. You had best get on his good side.”

“It's not Gregory's bad side I'm worried about.”

Sherlock had already been caught by the scruff of the neck. John was dragging him to the door.

“But the dancing-” Sherlock was complaining.

“Don't care.”

The DI was storming towards the government official, soaking wet, his little statue/trophy in his hand.

Mycroft held up his hands placatingly, his eyes darting about. “I love you?” he tried desperately, not caring that they were in public.

“That is the only reason you might live.” A drowned Greg was on him and had him by the collar. He frog marched him from the room.

“If it helps, there is an identical tuxedo at home to replace that one, Gregory.”

“What about mine?” John groused, marching Sherlock along.

“It will be replaced, I assure you, John,” Mycroft called back over his shoulder.

“Oh, damn straight it will.”

“Anthea get the car brought round,” Greg ordered when they stopped for their coats.

The man handing them their jackets looked at the four men with wide eyes. He seemed afraid that John's and Greg's ire would be turned on him. The doorman rushed to hold the door open for them which let in a blast of arctic air. That did nothing to improve the moods of the two victims of the prank.

The two brothers were dragged to the car and shoved into the back seat.

“I just wish I had my normal suit on. Cuffs in the pocket,” he added for John's benefit.

The doctor grinned, “That would have been perfect.”

Anthea had had the driver turn the heat up as high as it would go. It helped that the leather seats had heaters in them as well. Soon enough, the two drenched men stopped shivering.

“So, we're going to yours and Mycroft's.” The way John said it, it wasn't quite a question, but Greg took it as such.

“Yes. He has that huge hot tub we can all fit in. I figured we could warm up in that while those two gits,” he pointed at the brothers, “can wait on us hand and foot for the remainder of the evening.”

Both Holmeses opened their mouths to complain. John responded first, he pinched Sherlock's ear between his fingers, and threw him to his knees on the floor.

“John, it was just a prank-”

“Shut it, Holmes,” John held his finger to his lips. “Not another word.”

The detective sighed. Not only was he in trouble, he was never going to get his colouring book back, it had been left behind. This had been a monumentally stupid thing to do. It was all Mycroft's fault.

“It is not!” his brother objected to the silent accusation. “You thought it was an excellent idea, brother-mine.”

“But my colouring book!” He snapped back. John smacked the back of his head again. “Enough!” He barked. “You are in no place to complain.”

After a moment's thought, Greg pushed Mycroft off the seat beside him and onto the floor beside his brother.

In the front passenger seat, Anthea kept her eyes fastidiously glued to her phone. She definitely was not laughing at two of the most dangerous men in the country being manhandled by their boyfriends - it would cost her her job if she did. Later... she would have herself a glass of wine in the privacy of her own home and chuckle about it for hours.

When they pulled up outside the older pair's apartment, the brothers were roughly shoved from the back of the vehicle.

“Have a nice night, gentlemen,” Anthea called.

The two still damp men looked up and smiled grimly. “Don't worry, we will,” John answered.

Greg unlocked the door and let them all in. He and John removed their coats and handed them to their respective boyfriends, then they stripped down to their pants.

John looked around. “Which way to the hot tub?”

“This way.” Greg started down the hall. “Slaves! Bring beer!”

“But just one apiece,” John, ever the doctor, cautioned. “We really shouldn't be drinking in a hot tub.”

The two brothers shared unimpressed glances.

“I would not even think of arguing with us Sherlock!” John barked. “We are less than impressed. You will bloody well make up for it.”

They were silent until John and Greg had disappeared, then Sherlock started complaining, “How dare he call us their slaves! We are no such thing.”

“The beers are in the fridge, baby brother.”

Sherlock got them and opened them complaining the whole time. He only broke off to ask, “Do you think they'd like music? Or snacks? No, we just ate. Music, then.” He resumed complaining, much to his brother's amusement.

“I'll get towels and something for them to change into when they get out,” Mycroft offered.

“This is ridiculous!”

“Sherlock, we covered our boyfriends in ice while they were wearing tuxedos. Despite the amusement, we do deserve this.”

“Like hell we do!”

“Holmes!” John yelled. “Get your arse here.”

Mycroft gave his brother a little shove in the centre of his back to get him moving in the right direction and followed close behind. He only veered off to get the things he mentioned earlier. When he caught up, it was to see Sherlock stood, looking at John with a mix of rebelliousness and admiration.

“What?” Mycroft asked at the look on Sherlock's face.

“They want a massage.”

Mycroft lowered his head. “Fair enough.”

“What?!” Sherlock yelled.

He grabbed Mycroft and pulled him close. “I can't do that,” he hissed. “John just wants a massage, nothing else. I can't go putting my hands on him and not get all-”

The elder Holmes laughed at his brother's predicament. “You had best figure out how, brother-mine.” He shrugged, entirely unsympathetic. “Think of week old corpses in summer.”

John stared at him, knowing what the problem was immediately, but he didn't care. “You think I'm joking Sherlock? You better look bloody remorseful in the next minute or you will not like the consequences.”

The detective bit his lip and looked down at his shoes. “Where do you want your massage, John?”

“Why don't you just join us in here and you can work on my shoulder for now. For some reason, it's tensed up.”

Sherlock nodded and toed off his shoes, stripping down to his pants, then stepped into the hot water, both literally and figuratively.

“You know, cold seems to affect my shoulder, I can't think why I was so suddenly cold in such a warm building.” He spoke directly to Greg, ignoring Sherlock.

“I know, I paid a lot of money for a nice fitted suit. Hoping to wear it again someday.”

“Greg, we've apol-”

“Shut it, Sherlock.”

The younger Holmes frowned at the scarred shoulder in front of him. It was beautiful because it had brought him John, but cold did tend to make it ache. He sighed, feeling just a modicum of guilt. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the scar.

John let Sherlock's lips linger for just a moment. “Don't think that gets you off the hook.”

“And you!” Greg pointed from Mycroft to the water. “In, now.”

“Gregory-”

“No!”

Sighing, Mycroft stripped off his suit and joined the other three. He didn't know why he had tried getting out of it, he had had a hot tub fitted because he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it just as much as he enjoyed giving Greg massages, anytime, anywhere. They didn't even have to lead anywhere, so long as they were enjoyed. Of course, Greg knew that.

“I can't believe you of all people, pulled a stunt like that,” Greg said just before taking a drink from his beer.

“It was just supposed to be you.”

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?”

“I…” he ducked his head. “No, Gregory.”

The DI turned around and looked at Mycroft. “Why did you do it anyway?”

The elder Holmes brother glanced at Sherlock before daring an answer. “I'm so tired of being the grownup all the time: at work, in public, just... all the time. I wanted to be a child again, if only for a moment.”

Greg crushed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. “Oh, Myc. You can be a kid with me anytime you like. Just give the word.”

John was frowning sourly. “So what's this one's excuse?”

“It was funny,” Sherlock supplied.

John smacked him on the back of the head for about the hundredth time that night, but this time it was a lot harder. “You act like a child when… no hold up you never act like an adult.”

“I do too!” Sherlock drew himself up straight. “There are things we do together that you would never do with a child. You would get arrested if you did.” This time, he ducked the incoming hand that aimed at his head. But he still didn't escape it.

“Get out, stand there and look pretty, I don't think you deserve the luxury of this thing.”

It was one of the few times that Sherlock didn't look particularly pretty. Apart from his pout, his crossed arms and his dripping pants, his pale body was covered in uneven red splotches from the heat. John had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing at the detective, but he decided to laugh anyway. What Sherlock had done tonight, he had just said himself, 'It was funny'. “Go and hang our suits up,” John ordered.

Greg smacked Mycroft on the back of the head. “You too.”

Mycroft couldn't have looked more surprised if the ground had opened up and swallowed him. He climbed out of the hot tub, almost pouting and went to help with the suits. The whole time, he kept rubbing the back of his head and looking reproachfully at Greg.

The DI ignored him, not feeling sorry at all. They both had a lot of making up to do to the pair of them. It didn't matter they were the two cleverest people on the planet.

Mycroft dimmed the lights and put on some music after the suits had been hung up. Sherlock just stood there like a numpty. “How long are they going to stay mad with us?” He asked, angrily. “I'm not running around like some servant the rest of the night.”

Mycroft stepped in close to his brother. “Have you learned nothing, brother-mine? Make it a game, if you must. Smother John in tokens of affection.”

“Why should I? It was a practical joke and they're both getting uptight about it.”

“I can hear every word you are saying, Sherlock,” John growled.

Mycroft threw his hands up in defeat. “Oh, for goodness sake, 'Lock. I've tried to help you. John, why don't you just spank him. Maybe that would get through to him.”

“What?” The detective actually squawked. “I'm 34!”

“Do you know what, Mycroft, that is a very good idea,” Greg said, looking to the doctor to see if he agreed.

“This can not be happening!” Sherlock suddenly took off to hide. He couldn't leave, he was only in soaking wet pants. As he fled the room, he kicked off his pants and grabbed a towel. He couldn't risk dripping and giving himself away. Sherlock ran so fast, he didn't hear the chuckles that were left in his wake. Sherlock hid for well over an hour, once the adrenaline had worn down he was incredibly bored, incredibly quickly.

He snuck out, glancing down the hall one way and running the other. It was just like a cartoon as he cannoned into John, who stood with his arms folded. Who else would it have been? Seeing as he didn't have any clothes on he was grabbed by his still damp hair. John dragged him down the hallway to the living room where the others had now settled.

Sherlock made a face as soon as he realised a Bond film had been put on. He looked at Mycroft in hurt betrayal.

“Don't look like that, Sherlock. There's a reason I'm sat on the floor after all.”

“It's the same reason you're joining him,” John added yanking his towel away and making him blush furiously.

“Sit there next to your brother and shut it.”

John lifted his feet and propped them on Sherlock's shoulders. The detective dropped his head to his chest. Bond wasn't just boring, it was nonsensical and he was stuck watching it. Maybe he could sneak off to his Mind Palace.

John stuck his toe into his ear, “Don't even think about it. Or covering that pretty little cock of yours.”

“It's not little,” he grumbled.

“Well, as it appears to be sulking-” The doctor chuckled.

“It's not overly fond of two thirds of the present company.”

John pushed his head to the side with his foot.

Sherlock turned and glared at him. “I didn't say that I don't like them!”

“Oh. Fair point,” John said sheepishly. “Actually, we're in need of another drink,” the doctor pushed Sherlock forward. “Be a dear and go fetch us one.”

“I am not Mrs. Hudson!”

“Now, Sherlock, or your little friend will be less than fond with the whole company.”

The detective stalked out of the room, then back in, four beers in hand. He sat down and drew a long draught from his bottle. “I'm not your housekeeper,” he mumbled under his breath.

The following morning, the four awoke around the same time, having decided that John and Sherlock should just stay the night, it had been a late one.

Sherlock followed John downstairs, he was still mad about the night before but no longer angry.

By the front door was the morning local paper.

Sherlock yawned lazily and bent to pick it up, then tossed it to Mycroft who opened it. “Oh, brother-mine, we are in trouble,” the government official said as he showed Sherlock the front page. There in black and white, was John and Greg being drenched by a torrent of ice water. “If we leave now, we can be in Antactica before they know we're gone.”

The detective snatched the paper back having a closer look.

“What have you got there?” John asked, joining them to find out what the hold up was.

“Nothing,” Sherlock said hurriedly.

John held his hand out for the paper.

Sherlock kept hold of it for as long as he could, but in a matter of seconds, he had disappeared, giving chase after his brother.

Greg ambled over, a cup of coffee in hand. “What's got them so worked up?”

Turning the paper to the front page, John held it up. Both men started laughing. They weren't angry this morning, just amused. Greg and John looked in the direction their boyfriend's had fled.

“Should we tell them it's safe to come back?” Greg mused.

“Not until after breakfast, at least,” John said as he closed the door. He was confident Anthea would chase down the two pyjama clad men and bring them home.

An hour later, there came a knock at the door. Greg opened it to find a very special delivery - two Holmes brothers in pyjamas and bare feet.

Anthea smiled at the DI. “I believe you and Doctor Watson misplaced these,” she said with a wink.

Greg thanked her and let the two shivering men in. He wrapped himself around Mycroft and kissed his chilled lips. Next to him, John did the same with Sherlock.

“You nutter,” the doctor said fondly, earning him a hesitant smile.

Greg held Mycroft at arm’s length. “You, Mr. Holmes, win the award for childish behaviour.”

“And you still love me, despite it, Gregory.”

“No, babe. I love you because of it and every single thing that you are. I. Love. You. Mycroft Holmes.”

Anthea, who had witnessed everything, quietly closed the door and walked away. If there were tears of happiness in her eyes for her employer and his unique brother, well, no one ever had to know.


End file.
